


Stranded

by FilmEater



Series: Chance Encounters [1]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 13:09:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1780276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FilmEater/pseuds/FilmEater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ella's car breaks down in the middle of the road, a kind stranger stops to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> To the point: First fic in literally years. Not Beta'd. English isn't my first language so excuse any mistakes. Enjoy :)

“Goddamn piece of shit,” Ella muttered, banging her head against the wheel and jumping when the horn blared. Well, at least something in the car seemed to work. She tried the engine again. It coughed and coughed but refused to ignite. She took a breath. She will not cry. She will call the rental company, sell a kidney on the black market to cover the international call fees of using her mobile in a foreign country, and wait until they come and fix this mess of a car they’d rented out to her. Serves her right for asking for the cheapest deal they had.

She got out of the car. She needed air. She needed the goddamn car to work so she won’t have to call anyone. She slammed the door and leaned against it, looking at the country road. There was a lane in each direction, and it was deserted. The sun was setting behind the green hills, casting a golden light on fields of grass and flowers. There was so much green, so much color. For a moment, she did nothing but stare. Then the realization that it was going to be dark soon and she was nowhere near where she’d been going had started to sink in, and with it, panic. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Look at the fields of green.

Two cars passed her by, one after the other. They didn’t slow or stop, although the second driver did turn his head to look at her for a moment. But he didn’t stop. It was probably for the best. There could be all sorts of people out there. Best to call the rental company and wait for the tow-truck. There could be all sorts of people driving tow-trucks. She sighed, buried her face in her hands for a moment. She could do this.

A car was slowing down in the opposite lane, it went to the side of the road right across from her and stopped. Not just a car. A really fancy, black sports car. A Jaguar. The door opened and a man _unfolded_ from the driver’s seat. How with his height he even fit in there was nothing short of a mystery to her. When he turned and she saw his face, Ella stared. No way. No. Fucking. Way. In. Hell.

“Are you alright?” he asked, looked both ways and crossed the road. For a moment, Ella saw someone else and she couldn’t breathe. A guy just as tall, with a similar jaw-line, a similar set to his mouth. She shook her head and he faded, leaving behind the man who was now standing right next to her, making her crane her neck to see his face. Tom Hiddleston.

He waited. What for? Oh right, a question.

“I… I’m okay. This piece of shit won’t start, though,” she motioned towards the car.

“Let me see,” he walked over to the front and motioned for her to pop-open the hood. Ella searched around the various levers and buttons around the driver’s seat until she found the correct one. There was a pop and a squeak as he lifted the metal hood, blocking himself from view. Tom Hiddleston, looking into the hood of her car. Is this what going insane felt like? “Try and start it,” he said, looking up over the hood. His curls were falling down his forehead and he brushed them away, only to have them immediately fall back the exact same way.

Ella sat and pressed the clutch down, starting the ignition. Cough, cough, nothing. She tried again. Cough, cough, nothing.

She nearly jumped when the hood closed down with a bang.

“Sorry,” Tom said. “I have no idea what’s wrong.”

“It’s okay. I should call the rental company and they’ll fix it.” There was a sticker with the emergency number on the dashboard. Ella fished for her phone, then paused and looked at Tom. He was watching her. Waiting. Waiting for what?

“My phone has a foreign SIM card,” she said, looking straight ahead. Not at him. “Could I possibly use yours?” she looked at him then and added quickly, “No _is_ a valid answer.”

Tom nodded and pulled a phone out of his jeans pocket, “what’s the number?” she read it out and he dialed then handed her the phone.

She took a breath when she heard the dial tone. And another. Her stomach turned into a tight knot and she waited. When someone picked up, Ella was glad for the customary lengthy introduction on the other side of the line. It was just the moment she needed to gather her thoughts. She explained her problem. The girl on the other end of the line assured her they’d send someone to take a look and fix the issue. Except she was in the middle of nowhere, so it would take at least two hours for someone to show up.

“What if they can’t fix it?” Ella asked. The girl explained that they would have to call a lorry to take the car away, and she’d be issued a replacement in the morning.

“What am I supposed to do until then?”

It was no problem, she was assured by the thick-accented girl. The more she talked the harder it was for Ella to keep up with her. They’ll surely be able to fix it, it was probably just a minor issue and she’d be on her way in a few hours.

A few hours.

“Okay,” it was a quiet mumble and she hung up and handed the phone back to Tom. He was still standing right outside of her open car door, listening-in on her end of the conversation. When she got out of the car he raised a brow, waited. “They’re sending someone to take a look,” Ella said. “They say it’s gonna take a couple of hours until they get here.”

“What if they can’t fix it?” he asked.

“They’ll tow it and I get a new car in the morning.”

“Bollocks, what are you supposed to do until then?” he echoed her question, only his tone was properly enraged when he asked.

Ella shrugged, “that’s what I asked.”

“And?”

“She said it’s probably something they can fix and I shouldn’t worry.” She shrugged, “Anyway. Thank you so much for stopping and for letting me use your phone.”

“Of course,” he smiled, ran a hand through his hair, “it was the least I could do. I’m Tom, by the way,” he reached his right hand.

Ella chuckled and took it, “I know. I’m Ella.”

His long fingers wrapped around her small hand and the warmth was a shock. The air was getting colder and Ella hadn’t even noticed how cold her hands were until she’d touched his.

“Will you be okay out here?” he asked. Ella watched, partially mesmerized at this man who was an echo of someone else she used to know, as he run fingers through hair again, clearly thinking about something.

“I’ll be fine,” she wasn’t entirely convinced that she would, but whatever he was so conflicted about, she wanted no part of it. Too weird. Too surreal. Too… he stuck his hands in his pockets, a gesture that made his shoulders stand out, and with the angle he was standing at he looked just like- Ella shook her head again. No. No he didn’t. He was far more handsome. He was bulkier. His hair was a different color. His nose was different. It was just something around the eyes and mouth. Just that. And his height, of course. “You should go,” she said. “I’ve kept you long enough,” and she didn’t want to get stuck with a ghost around her. _He_ was haunting her anyway. He needed no help from superstars who, from a certain angle, under a certain light, reminded of him.

“Thank you again,” Ella repeated.

“No worries,” he smiled. “Take care, Ella.”

She watched him cross the empty road and get into his car. There was a pause before he drove away, he looked at her questioningly and she nodded once again. Just go.

Now that he was gone there was a whole different problem, of course. She was alone. Totally alone, on a pretty much deserted country road in the middle of the English nowhere, with no way of going anywhere. The sun was slowly but surely setting, clouds had begun to gather and she was getting hungry. There was nothing left for her to do, however, except wait.


	2. 2

The sun had set and Ella sat in the car, curled up on the driver’s seat with her coat covering her like a blanket, listening to music on her player and singing along loudly. There was no one to hear. Cars passed every once in a while. She counted a total of ten cars in the hour and a half she’d been sitting there, two of which stopped and offered help. They couldn’t fix the issue either. She called the hostel where she’d booked a bed and let them know she had no idea when she’d show up, but it was probably going to be ridiculously late, or exceptionally early. They promised they’d keep the bed for her.

Headlights came closer in her rearview mirror, casting a display of light and shadow in front of her. Ella waited for the car to pass her by but it didn’t. It parked behind her. She paused the music, took the ear buds out of her ears and watched the man who got out of the car. The light from his headlights made it impossible to see anything other than a silhouette, but she knew the silhouette immediately. Her stomach turned. She had to force herself to breathe. It wasn’t him. He was nowhere near here. Which meant it could only be one other person – Tom was back.

She rolled down her window when he got close enough but stayed inside the car, just in case the English countryside was swarming with people who looked like ghosts from her past.

“Hello,” he folded and leaned on her open window.

“Hi,” Ella said.

“I came to check if you’re alright,” Tom explained. “They didn’t show up?”

She shook her head, “not yet.”

He glanced at the coat she was huddling underneath, “come over to my car,” he said. “I’ll turn on the heating, we’ll wait there.”

“No, it’s okay.”

“Don’t be daft. Look at you,” he motioned, long fingers glowing in the yellowish light. Ella paused, then nodded. She grabbed her backpack, reached for the door handle and waited for him to step aside so that she could come out. She followed him to the car silently. It was a different car now. No longer the fancy Jaguar, this was a plain white Volkswagen, quite a few years old.

“You’re going incognito?” she asked, looking sideways at him as she walked around the car to the passenger door.

“It’s my mum’s,” Tom answered.

It was warmer inside the car, and true to his word, Tom immediately turned on the heating. Ella put her backpack on the floor of the vehicle and reached for the vents, enjoying the heat against her cold hands. She turned them this way and that, warming them up. The silence stretched.

It snapped with a question, “So where are you heading?”

“The Lake District,” she said.

“That’s hours away!”

“I know.”

“Damn.”

“Have you ever been?” Ella asked.

“To the Lakes? Of course. It’s lovely.”

“I know! I was there a few years ago and wanted to come back ever since.”

“We went on holiday there a few times when I was in school,” he said. “I liked the walks, my sisters weren’t quite so keen,” he smiled.

His phone rang, “Sorry,” he mumbled and answered the call, “Hello?” Ella watched him as she listened to the one-sided conversation, “Yes,” a pause, “no, not yet.” Another pause, “I didn’t think of it,” pause, “Of course.” She could hear a female voice from the other side of the line but couldn’t tell the words. “Yes, of course.” Pause, “Bye,” he said and hung up.

He turned to her, “Sorry. It was my mum. She said I should have brought some tea for the wait.”

The concept of tea, of warm, sweet tea, made Ella’s stomach turn in yearning. More than the cold, the hunger was getting to her.

Headlights from the opposite direction, slowing then coming to a full stop, made her sit up in expectation. Tom also straightened in his seat. Two men came out of a pick-up truck.

“I think that’s them,” Tom said. He opened the door and Ella mirrored him on her side.

The cold air outside enveloped her, snaked into her lungs, made her nose water slightly. She sniffed and ignored it all, following Tom towards the two men who were standing by the car. It was a short, surreal affair. Ella handed her keys to one of the men and stood watching, hands wrapped around herself, as one popped the hood while another sat inside and tried to start the car. They fiddled with wires. They tried to start the car again. It didn’t work. They tried something else. The man’s hands came up dirty, but whatever it was he did, it didn’t help.

Their words of apologies, the talk of lorries and replacement cars went directly over Ella’s head. It was white noise. She stared at the car. At the piece of shit car that was taking her nowhere tonight. She had nowhere to go. She had only a vague idea of where she actually was in relation to where her booked hostel bed was. Hours away. Hours away and no car. And she was so, so hungry. In the gas station hours ago there were sandwiches, snacks, chocolate bars. She’d only gotten one snack and it was long since gone.

An engine starting startled her and Ella turned to realize they were going away.

“Ella?” she turned the other way, towards the sound of her name. She blinked and the blur of him cleared. “Do you have a bag in the car?” she nodded. He opened the trunk and grabbed her backpack, slinging it over his shoulder. When the trunk was closed again, he clicked the alarm on the keyset and started walking back towards his car. He paused when she didn’t follow. “Come on,” he said.

She got into the Volkswagen, put on her seatbelt. Waited. The trunk of his car was open and she could hear he was on the phone again, but couldn’t focus on the words. He closed the trunk, walked around the car and got in, still on the phone. He hung up a moment later and put his own seatbelt on.

“Hungry?” he asked. Ella nodded. She was cold. The heating was on but she was cold, and her stomach was hurting, and she was sitting with Tom Hiddleston in his mother’s car with no idea where she was going. This. This is what going insane must feel like.

They drove for the better part of half an hour, listening to the radio. Ella tried to peer into the darkness but there were no lights along the road, nothing but the headlights of the car. Then lights appeared, and a small village followed. They drove through it and parked by a stone cottage at the very edge of the village. The Jaguar was parked next to it, too.

“The Crown is just down the road,” Tom motioned back towards the direction they came from. “They have the best Shepherd’s Pie,” he added.

Ella perked up at the mention of food.

It was a five minute walk to The Crown, which turned out to be on the ground level of another stone cottage. There was a hanging wooden sign with the painting of a crown with the words ‘The Crown’ painted around it.

Like a scene from a movie.

There were few people inside. They were watching a football match on a small, flat-screen TV that hung above the bar. Tom led her down the small space to a table in the corner of the room. He held out a wooden chair for her, then sat in the chair across.

“Tommy!” a round man of about sixty, an apron that used to be white tied around his waist, walked over to them. “What a surprise! What can I get you lad?”

“Shepherd’s Pie?” Tom asked Ella. She nodded. He turned to the older man, “two pies, and two beers.”

“Coming up,” he turned away and stood looking at the TV screen for a few moments before he remembered to move. He disappeared in the kitchen for, then came out and focused on the game. Ella glanced at the screen as well, but found no interest in the men running around after the ball.

“Is there a hotel here?” Ella asked.

Tom blinked. “No.”

“Shit.”

He chuckled, “don’t worry. My mum’s already set up the sofa.”

It was Ella’s turn to blink. A question formed in her mouth, she rolled it around then swallowed it. It didn’t matter why. She had no choices. Instead, she said “Thank you.”

The beers arrived first, then the food. It was easier with the alcohol, and they actually talked. Ella talked about her vacation, what she’d seen so far, the hikes she planned to do in the Lake District. Tom explained what he was doing out in the country. A simple reason. The best reason, “Came up to visit my mum for the weekend, relax a bit.”

“What?” he asked suddenly, after a pause in which Ella had been staring. She hadn’t realized she’s staring, of course.

“Sorry,” she hid behind the pint of beer, took a long swallow of the bitter liquid. Wished for tea instead. “You really remind me of someone sometimes.”

“Is that good or bad?” he asked.

Ella shrugged, “it just is.”

“Bad, then,” he concluded. He was on his second beer. Ella still hadn’t finished her first. Her plate was scraped clean, however, and she was reaching out and stealing bits of his leftovers. “Who is he?”

“Just someone I used to know,” it was so easy to explain it this way. A simple truth.

“What happened?” blue oceans looked at her from across the table.

She drank for courage, then spoke the truth. Beer made truths easy and simple, “He didn’t love me enough. Or possibly at all.”

“There’s more to it than that,” Tom said.

“Of course there is, but I’m not nearly drunk enough to get into the details of my tale of woe,” she drank some more, as if to prove her point. “Besides, there’s no point. None of it matters. He isn’t here.”

“No,” he nodded, “he isn’t. You’re stuck with me instead,” he grinned and she could breathe a little easier. There was no shadow of _him_ in Tom’s smile.

“No, _you’re_ stuck with _me_.”

“Should I worry?” a raised eyebrow, his cheeks crinkling with another smile. Or the same smile. Ella wasn’t keeping track.

She shrugged, “I don’t know. You seem like a fairly brave man and I don’t bite much.”

He motioned for another pint for Ella.

“I’m not done with this one yet,” she commented, confused.

“Go on then,” he said. “We’re finally getting somewhere, finish up before your new pint arrives,” tongue peeking between teeth, he was evidently very pleased with himself. Ella rolled her eyes, then gulped down the rest of her beer. Her second beer arrived a few moments later and they continued talking.

He made her laugh. He spoke with his hands, illustrating a story, painting it to life, and when one of those hands found her fingers she didn’t move her hand away. At first she hid behind her pint when he was looking at her, but as her mission to finish pint number two continued, it was easier to just look back. His eyes stopped being vast oceans she would drown in if she lingered and turned to just eyes, grey and blue and twinkling with laugher, shinning with stories.

“Riddle me this,” she said, entirely aware that she was actually drunk by now, “why is Tom Hiddleston sitting in a pub with some girl he’s just met?”

He looked at her before answering and she realized _he_ wasn’t drunk.

Oh shit.

Fuck it.

“Because,” his fingers were tracing a pattern on the back of her hand. She focused on them. Long, perfect fingers. “It seemed like a good idea,” he said. “And she’s rather lovely.” Ella didn’t look up. She couldn’t. But she moved her hand, ran her fingers against his.

The match ended with a grunt of disappointment. Tom glanced at his phone.

“I think that’s our cue,” he said. “Give me a minute.”

Ella watched him walk over to the bar. He spoke to the round barkeep for a few minutes, then reached for the wallet in his back pocket. She looked around for her bag, where her own wallet was, and realized it was still in the Volkswagen. Shit.

Tom returned a moment later and gathered his jacket from the back of his chair where it spent the evening, shrugging into it.

“Tom?” he looked at her, “My wallet’s in the car. I’ll pay you back later?”

He frowned, “What are you talking about?”

“For dinner.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he put a hand around her shoulder, steered her towards the exit.

It had gotten colder outside. This wasn’t the kind cold, the one that wrapped and writhed and slid. This was the kind of cold that hit like a brick. The kind of cold that distracted from the light raindrops that filled the air rather than simply fall down from the sky. She huddled closer to him as they walked quickly down what Ella assumed was the only street in the village. The drops grew heavier with each step.

“Shall we make a run for it?” Tom asked.

Ella looked up at the sky, then down the road. It wasn’t far. They’d make it before they got truly wet if they ran. She shook her head, “I like the rain.”


	3. 3

They were soaked through by the time they’d reached the cottage. A tangle of limbs, wet hair, cold fingers and shoes squishing with water bundled into the little foyer, smiling despite the cold and wet. Smiling because of the cold and wet.

Tom glanced into the dimly lit space and whispered “My mum’s asleep.”

Ella nodded and leaned to take her wet shoes off. One shoe off, balancing on one leg as she was pulling off a wet sock, it suddenly hit her, “Shit.”

“Hmm…?” he was hanging his coat on the peg behind the door. It was going to make a wet pool on the floor. This was a bad idea.

“My stuff are still in the car.”

He groaned.

“I’ll go get it,” she said. It was her stuff, after all.

“No, I’ll do it, I’ve still got both shoes on,” he put the coat back on and was out the door in a moment. Ella took the other shoe off, the other sock off, and stood barefoot in the open doorway, wringing her socks onto the stone steps that led up to the door. She watched Tom open first the passenger door and pick up her little bag, then the trunk to get her backpack. She moved out of the way to let him get inside, closed the door behind him.

They left their wet shoes by the door and Ella followed him deeper into the house. There were stairs to an upper level and doors from the living area they’ve walked into. Two were open – one to the small kitchen, one to an equally small bedroom. The third was closed, Tom said it was a toilet. As promised, a sofa was made up for sleeping, plain white sheets, a woolen blanket, a white fluffy towel.

“Thank you,” Ella said.

“You’re in the guest room,” Tom indicated towards the door.

She turned to him, his hair was plastered to his head, drops sliding down his forehead and neck, “What? No. The sofa is enough. It’s more than enough.”

“Ella, if my mum finds out you slept out here she’d have my head.”

“Then why…?” she indicated towards the sofa.

“For me,” he said.

She blinked, looked at him, at the sofa, back at him, calculated, “You’re never gonna fit.”

Tom shrugged, “I’ve done it before.”

She wasn’t going to argue with him. Not now. Not yet. The rain helped clear her head a little but she needed more to be able to keep up with him.

“Shower’s first door up the stairs,” he said. “Go on,” he motioned, “You need to warm up,” a ghost of a smile. He was right. Her bare feet were cold, fingers turning slightly blue. She went to her backpack and dug inside for her pajamas, socks, a change of underwear and her toiletries. She grabbed the towel from the sofa.

“Thanks,” she headed towards the stairs, wincing every time the wooden panels squeaked.

The bathroom wasn’t large, but it didn’t feel crowded. She brushed her teeth, put the lid of the toilet down and put her change of clothes on top. She had allowed herself to indulge in the shower for longer than was strictly necessary. The water was hot, relaxing. It was a pleasure after a long day. She forced herself out from underneath the hot stream, dressed, towel-dried her hair as much as possible and braided it.

When she came back downstairs, Tom was nowhere to be found. His wet clothes were hanging on the heaters along the wall, though, so she’d added her own.

“Ella?” she turned to find him standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He was wearing sweatpants and a white T-shirt, his hair mostly dry. And he was holding a mug of something steaming. “I’ve made tea,” he nodded towards the kitchen.

Ella smiled and followed him inside, finding a second mug full to the brim with steaming tea. She’d have to brush her teeth again. She took a sip. Closed her eyes at the pleasure of the sweet, warm liquid filling her mouth. Waited before swallowing and letting it warm her up from the inside. Perhaps it were just the circumstances of the day, but it felt like the best tea she’d ever tasted.

She slumped into the cushioned chair by the small dining table, leaning her head against the wall behind her and closed her eyes. Her head was swimming, the alcohol not out of her system yet. It was making her dizzy. She opened her eyes and saw Tom sitting right across from her, sipping his tea. Watching her. His eyes were oceans again and she never did learn how to swim. She looked away.

“What am I going to do tomorrow?” she took another sip of the tea.

“What do you mean?”

“The new car. What am I supposed to do with the keys to the old one? How are they going to even find me? I don’t think I gave them my number. I don’t know when they’re co--” it was a panicked surge that stopped when he put a hand on her knee. Her jaw shut tight mid-word. He was touching her knee. No. He was _enveloping_ her knee with his hand.

“Calm down,” quiet and commanding. Ella took a breath. It didn’t actually help. “It’s all sorted. They’ll bring the car tomorrow by eleven, they’ve got Luke’s number to coordinate, I’ve texted him to let him know.”

“When did this happen?” she spoke to his hand. To the long fingers. Pianist fingers, that’s what her mother would call them. There was a piano in the living room. Did he play?

“When you were panicking before,” Tom said. “Now calm down, drink your tea, it’s all sorted.”

It was a mostly silent affair, the drinking of the tea. Somehow, he managed to keep his hand on her knee the entire time. Somehow, that didn’t bother her at all.

“Let me,” Ella said when the tea was finished, and without waiting for his response took the dirty dishes to the sink and started washing them.

“Stop that,” he came up behind her. So close she could feel his heat against her back. Could feel his breath on the top of her neck. “I’ll do it.”

“Stop telling me what to do,” she said. It was hard to concentrate with him so close. She reached a hand for the towel and brushed against his arm. Warm and soft and impossible to ignore. She tried anyway.

“Ella,” he kept saying her name. He had to stop saying her name. It sounded exactly the same, coming at her from the same angle. She focused on the second mug, rinsed, soaped, rinsed again. He won’t tell her what do it. She would do the damn dishes if she wanted to. He held out the towel for her, still standing right behind her, so close if she moved she’d collide with him. He smelled of fresh rain and fresh clothes, and something warm and musky. It made her brain hurt, the collision of familiar tones and unfamiliar smells. Perhaps _this_ was what going insane felt like. This… dissonance.

Tom took the dry mug from her hands, and she would have bet all her money he did it on purpose so he could touch her. Then his presence disappeared from her close proximity and she could hear a cabinet door open and close. She leaned over the sink, breathing, blinking the tears away. Perhaps the two beers weren’t such a good idea. Combined with him, they were making her crazy. Crazy and sad. Crazy and sad and he was standing right behind her again.

Hands on her waist made her freeze. They tugged and she turned. Her eyes locked on the rounded neckline of his T-shirt, on the place where it ended and his skin began. They started crawling up, but faltered at the lips and darted back down, then around the room. A hand left her waist then fingers brushed a strand of still wet hair behind her ear. She dared a glance up – oceans. Stormy oceans of blue and grey. Lightning brightly lit the dim room for a moment and she held her breath, counting in her head. On the count of four thunder came crushing down with enough force to pull her out of the water and let her breathe again. His neck was an anchor. She watched his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed and took a step back.

Ella used the opportunity to escape. She walked into the living room, glanced at the made-up sofa. Not yet. She stood by the window, moved the curtain away and tried to see into the darkness outside. The lights dimmed behind her but she didn’t turn around. Outside, there were flashes of lightning snaking through the sky, making patterns of white blinding light. Tom joined her by the window, standing too close again. He put a hand on the back of her neck and she held her breath. Then he started massaging the flesh around her vertebrae gently and she closed her eyes, exhaled. Inhaled again. Thunder rolled in the distance.

“You like that?” she could hear the smile in his voice. She nodded. He moved, stood directly behind her and one hand turned to two, kneading her shoulders. Outside the storm raged on. Inside, her stomach was turning in turn with each movement of his fingers. He knew what he was doing. Damn him.

“Do I scare you?” he asked. Ella shook her head. “Then why are you…?” he didn’t finish the question, but his fingers found a particularly tight spot on her shoulders and she winced as he kneaded the flesh. Why are you so tense? Why are you sending mixed signals? Why are you here? There were several possibilities, all of them coming down to more or less the same reason.

“I told you. You remind me of someone.”

“He’s not here,”

“I know.”

He pressed and tugged at her shoulders to turn her. Ella resisted for a moment, but then sighed and turned.

“Look at me,” Tom said. No. “Ella, look at me.” Her name again. Did he have to say it with that particular intonation? In that particular tone? She swallowed, looked up. He’d caught her in a whirlpool and she was drowning again.

In the silence, her mind raced. Her stomach turned. Her eyes remained locked on his and she took a breath, held it, let it go. She was breathing in rhythm with him now. She blinked, opened her eyes again and it was easier to navigate through the blue and grey.

“He’s not here,” Tom repeated. “I am.”

“I know,” she said. “You’re here and he’s not.”

Lightning flashed, followed almost immediately but thunder so loud the windows shook.

“I should probably try and get some sleep,” Ella took another breath, looked at the sofa. It looked comfortable enough. It wasn’t the sofa that was going to keep her from sleep tonight. Nor was it the storm.

He nodded, “I put your bags in the guest room.”

“I said I’m sleeping on the sofa,” she sighed, irritated. Why was it so hard to just let her sleep on the sofa? She’d used enough of his good graces already, offered nothing but weak thank yous and weird company in return. The least she could do was not rob him of his own bed for the night.

“And I said my mum would have my head if I let you do that.”

“I’ll tell her I insisted,” Ella offered.

“You don’t know my mum, Ella.”

“You don’t know me,” she walked around him, picked up the folded blanket from the sofa and began unfolding it, positioning it for sleeping.

He followed her, stood behind the sofa and watched her for a moment, then said, “You’re scared and lonely, trying to run away from a ghost but failing. Probably because you don’t really want to. Probably because you’re still hoping for something to happen. Holding your breath waiting for a change that isn’t ever going to come.”

“Shut up,” Ella muttered.

“You’ve got the whole story buried in those brown eyes of yours,” he said. “One just needs to know how to look.”

“What’s the point?” She looked up at him then. Oceans were just eyes, and the man standing in front of her was just that, a man. A man who was his own self and nobody’s shadow, nobody’s ghost. It was a lot easier to talk to him this way. “What’s the point of telling me this? So you figured it out. It’s not that complicated. What does it change? What does it matter?”

“Ella…”

“Stop it.”

“What?”

“Stop saying my name like that,” it was a shout in her mind, but came out as a whisper.

Tom walked around the sofa, towered over her again, she had to tilt her head back to look at him. She glanced at the sofa, wondered how tall she would be if she climbed on top of it. Probably just tall enough. “Ella,” he said again.

“Stop it,” she repeated. “Just stop it. You’re not him and he’s not here but you keep saying my name that way and it’s driving me crazy and it makes me want to cry and I really don’t want to cry tonight.”

“Ella,” he bent his head down just a bit, forced her to look in his eyes.

“What?” she sighed. She was tired, so tired of the whole thing.

“Shut up,” and then he was kissing her. He had a hand in her hair, another holding the back of her neck, tilting her head up, and he was kissing her. Lips, warm, soft, wet lips danced with her own, teeth grazing, tongue flicking out. Panic. How does this dance go? Ella reached her hands and rested against his chest lightly, slid them up to his shoulders, held on. When he finally pulled away, she was gasping for air. “Better?” the corner of his mouth curved into a smile.

She shook her head. Nothing was better. Everything was more confusing.

“One more time then,” he said, “until it works.”

She laughed and he smiled, the fingers still buried in her hair caressing her scalp lightly. “See?” he said. “I got this.” The second time was easier, the steps of the dance of tongues were coming back to her and she danced with him, going on tiptoe for better reach, holding on to his shoulders for balance.

He broke the kiss, brushed his nose against her cheek and whispered in her ear, “How about now?”

“Better,” she said.

“Good,” he trailed kisses down her neck, making her shiver. “So are you going to stay here on the sofa and wallow in your misery the whole night, or will you share the bedroom with me?”

There was a pause as he waited for her response. Their chest rose and fell as they breathed, and Ella could hear the rush of blood in her ears, feel his breath on her neck, but nothing moved. The only sound was the pouring rain and a distant roll of thunder. She closed her eyes, counting the ways this was a terrible idea. Then opened them again, found his lips and kissed him. She always had tomorrow to wallow in her misery.


	4. 4

“I need to brush my teeth.”

Tom laughed, he actually laughed out loud and took a step back, “way to ruin the mood.”

Ella shrugged, “a particular talent of mine.”

He pulled her close, kissed the skin where her neck and shoulders came together, “brush your teeth later,” the breath of air against her skin as he spoke sent shivers down her spine. She pushed against his chest lightly, breaking the contact.

“Now,” she said and turned to get her toothbrush and toothpaste out of the toiletries bag. Later she’d be in bed and regardless of whatever activity they may or may not be engaging in, there was no way she’d be bothered to get up again. She needed to brush her teeth before bed. She went into the little toilet room and started brushing over the tiny sink.

“Fine, if you’re going to be like that,” she heard his voice coming from behind her, “I’m going for a proper shower.” She made a sound in response. It was meant to be taken as a ‘go ahead’.

The squeaking panels on the stairs marked his steps up to the bathroom.

She walked into a dim living room, lit only by the light coming out of the guestroom bedside lamps. The rain was hitting the window panels, drumming a rhythm. From upstairs, Ella could hear the sound of running water in the shower. She took a deep breath, looked at the sofa, looked at the guest bedroom. Stood, looking from one to the other for a full minute until she chose neither, sitting on the stool at the piano instead. She lifted the cover and brushed her fingertips on the keys, tracing first the white ones, then the black. She traced a melody she’d learned many years ago, never actually pressing on the keys, just tapping them, her nails clicking. The music played in her head.

Footsteps on the wooden floors. Ella paused, waited. She could feel him walk, feel him stand right behind her. Knew he was going to touch her a moment before his hands folded on her shoulders. The room smelled of him now, fresh out of the shower. It was more intoxicating than the two beers before.

“Do you play?” he asked.

“A bit. Do you?”

“A bit,” she turned her head just in time to see the small smile on his lips. “Shall we?” he nodded towards the bedroom. Ella stared at the open door. Why was a simple yes or no question so complicated? He waited, unmoving, his hands never leaving her shoulders. She took a deep breath and stood up. This had all seemed a lot easier when he was kissing her.

His hands never left her shoulders. He steered her towards the bedroom, pushed the door closed with his foot, turned her around to face him. Breathe. It was important to remember to breathe. Breathing kept her from drowning. Breathing helped her focus. It’s like he was doing it on purpose, just staring at her. Right into her eyes. As if he wanted her to drown. Stop it. She willed him to stop it, but he didn’t. So she closed her eyes.

There was no silence. There could be no silence on a night so loud. No silence when there was a storm outside. No silence when her mind was racing. Amidst all the noise, hands travelled down her arms. Warm, soft hands, down her arms and to her waist. And tickled.

Ella’s eyes snapped open and she instinctively twitched, trying to get away. There was no getting away. Tom’s eyes were twinkling, a smile on his face. She laughed, against her better judgment, despite the noise in her head, she laughed and tried to get away. Seconds into his little game the backs of her knees hit the bed and she fell backwards, hands flailing to grasp something for balance. The air left her lungs in a rush.

“Sorry,” Tom mouthed more than whispered. It looked like he was about to settle right on top of her but he didn’t. He laid down beside her, knees hanging off the bed, her feet hanging in the air awkwardly, his firmly on the floor.

She turned to look at him. His eyes were the clearest blue now. Clear like the sky back home. Reflecting the yellowish light from the lamps. His hair was damp from the shower, his forehead shining with smeared drops of water. The corners of his mouth twitched in the tiniest hint of a smile. Ella took a deep breath and could smell nothing but him. Water, soap, detergent and an undertone of musk that she knew was _him_. She rolled to her side, bringing her knees up on the bed. Slowly, she reached a hand and touched his face, tracing his brow with the tips of her fingers, down to his cheekbone. He watched her, unmoving.

“You’re thinking awfully loud for someone so quiet,” he said. She moved to take her hand away at the first sound of his voice but he moved faster, caught it, kept it where it was. Pressed it against his cheek lightly.

“Yeah?” Ella asked. He nodded. “And what is it you think I’m thinking about?”

He shrugged, “Girl things. Something ridiculous and irrelevant to complicate something very simple.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” she agreed.

“Stop.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s no point.”

“Of course there’s a point. I’ll have to deal with this tomorrow.”

“Ella, you could be dead tomorrow. You could be dead in five minutes. Stop worrying about things that don’t matter and just… _do_.” He let her hand go as he spoke, but caught it again and pinned it against the mattress. Ella shifted, wrapped her fingers around his thumb.

“This matters,” she said, voice barely louder than a whisper. Then added, louder, “Also, are you planning to kill me or something?”

He grinned for a moment, blinked and then said, “Of course _this_ matters,” he squeezed her hand a little for emphasis. “It’s tomorrow that doesn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter the same to you,” she pointed out.

Tom rolled his eyes, muttered “Jesus,” and she laughed. She laughed more than when he tickled her. “This isn’t funny,” he said.

“You should see your face, it’s hilarious.”

“Is it now?” in a blink of an eye, or at least what seemed like a blink of an eye, he was straddling her, pinning her down to the bed, leaning on elbows on either side of her head. “You think this is funny?” he growled deep in his throat, his chest reverberating against her hands. She placed her hands there but didn’t push him away. Ella nodded. She adjusted her position a little, then shoved him aside with both hands and hips. The surprise of it made him sway more than her force. He caught his balance before she could overturn him, though, and grabbed both her wrists in one of his hands, pinned them above her head. She huffed in frustration, which made him chuckle.

“Oh wow, you’re stronger than you look,” he pointed out.

“Not strong enough.”

“You could ask nicely.”

She grinned, “And where’s the fun in that?”

He leaned his head, brushed his nose against hers, smiled, “fair point, m’lady.”  His free hand trailed down her torso, tracing a path between her breasts. She titled her head up and caught his lips in hers. He was right, after all. It didn’t really matter. Tomorrow was tomorrow. Tomorrow she’d be back in the car heading north, back to being alone, back to her old life. Tonight. Tonight was what mattered.

“Are you real?” she asked suddenly. It was all too weird. Too surreal. Everything from the moment he’d stopped his car to see if she was okay. Maybe she was in the car, having a psychotic break, hallucinating Tom Hiddleston. His bed. His smell. His touch. The blue, blue sky that was looking at her through his eyes.

He blinked at her in confusion, then thrust his hips against hers suggestively, grinning, “What do you think?”

She rocked her hips back, “Sorry, had to make sure I’m not having a psychotic break or something.”

“What if you are?”

Ella shrugged, “I’m in bed with Tom Hiddelston, as far as psychotic breaks go, this isn’t half bad.”

“Just Tom,” he said, hand stilling its exploration of her body, the other relaxing its grip on her wrists. Something changed behind his eyes. It changed and everything clicked in place and made sense.

She nodded, “Just Tom,” she agreed. He had his own ghosts that haunted him. She pushed against his hand and got a hand out of his grip, brought it to his cheek, caressed her way to the back of his neck and used it for balance to lift herself up a little and brush her lips against his. “He isn’t here,” she said. For a change, it wasn’t her own ghost she was talking about.

She pulled the shirt off him first, an act of bravery to no one but her own self. He insisted on pulling off her own, and once he did, he immediately took hold of her hands, as if afraid she’d cover up. She didn’t even try. He traced patterns on her skin, watched her nipples harden, watched her twitch when his fingers trailed to her sides. He touched and watched. Ella did her own touching, her own watching. She traced small fingers through the hint of blonde chest hair he had. Up his shoulders, around his neck, down his stomach, down his back. He was all muscle and sinew and soft, warm skin. When she pushed his sweatpants down, she smiled to see he went commando. He, however, had to tackle both her pajama pants and her underwear. It didn’t pose much of a problem though, as he’d manage to catch both in one swift movement.

“You’ve done this before,” she chuckled.

“Guilty,” Tom admitted, guiding her legs out of the garments.

“Get back here, I’m cold,” she reached her hands down and he climbed up her body to settle against her.

“Better?”

“Mmhmm,” she nodded.

He buried his nose in her hair, took a deep breath and said something she couldn’t quite make out. “What?” she asked.

“You smell like home,” he repeated, a whisper delivered right into her ear. She smiled.

“You smell like sex,” she pointed out.

He laughed, pulling himself higher on his elbows to look at her, then shook his head, chuckling, “You’re the strangest lost creature I’ve ever come across.”

“Do you come across a lot of lost creatures?”

“Some.”

“Do they all end up in your bed?”

“Some,” his lips traced a pattern down her neck, “they’re not here,” he said into her skin, “focus.”

Ella laughed, “On the sex?” he nodded and she laughed again. “Never gonna happen.”

“Oh?” his head shot up, eyebrow raised.

“Too much noise inside my head.”

“I bet I could make it go away.”

“You could try,” was the best she could offer. Others have tried, they never quite succeeded. She opened her mouth to speak.

“Shhh,” he smiled, placing a brief kiss on her lips then sliding down her body, “I’m a man on a mission now. No interruptions.” Her body shook with silent laughter. If nothing else, she hadn’t laughed this much in quite some time. Not while in bed with a man, anyway. It was wonderfully refreshing. Perhaps tomorrow wasn’t going to be so bad after all. It just might be worth the memories. Even the tomorrows that followed _him_ were worth the memories. This. This very moment. Being in bed with a beautiful, kind man who made her laugh more in one evening than any other had in the span of days, and still allowing others to find their way into her mind. This is what going insane felt like. Or maybe going insane was what made her walk into that room in the first place.


	5. 5

The cold had seeped into the room and chilled her skin. The rain had quieted down, no longer the angry torrent, yet it was still audible. She hurt in places that hadn’t hurt in ages, and muscles she only vaguely remembered even existed were now making their presence known. And they were entirely unhappy with her behavior.

Her front was cold, but her back was warmed by the furnace of Tom’s body pressed against hers. She blinked in the darkness of the room, lazily traced gentle circles on the back of the hand he’d thrown over her. It came as a surprise. Everything up to that point made sense. But this didn’t. She wrapped fingers around his thumb, pulled his hand closer to her body. One did not look a gift horse in the mouth. Especially when the gift horse turned out to have the ability to chase loneliness away with a single, distracted act before falling asleep.

There was no sleep in it for her, of course. Not with him so close, breathing into her hair, chest moving against her back. So she laid in his arms, eyes closed, then open again, then closed once more. Drifting in and out of fitful sleep. She dared not move, for fear he would disentangle himself from her.

She dreamed, this is how when the birds started singing, tentatively at first, as if unsure themselves of the upcoming sunrise, she knew she had even managed to sleep at all. She dreamed of him. She dreamed of him passing her by in his Jaguar, looking at her with interest but never stopping. She dreamed of him sitting with the other one on the made-up sofa of the little cottage, nodding for her to go to the bedroom alone. None of them would be joining her. She dreamed of getting lost.

“Ella?” it was a whisper against the back of her neck. A hand was rubbing her shoulder.

“Hmm…?” she opened her eyes, the feeling of dread and hurt still strong in her stomach, fresh in her mind, engraved on her skin. The dream faded the moment the room came into focus. Only the feeling remained.

“You were dreaming,” Tom said behind her.

She turned in his arms, looked up, “Did I wake you? I’m sorry.”

He kissed her forehead, “Don’t worry.” He pulled her closer, the warmth of him radiating to her chilled skin. Now her back was cold. She closed her eyes, breathed him in. Her time was running out. Better enjoy it while she could.

“What time does your mom usually get up?” she asked his chest.

“Early. Sevenish.”

“What time is it now?” he shifted, leaned over her pressing her down into the mattress and reached for his phone on the bedside table. He tapped the screen, then did it again and put the phone on the pillow behind her head, within easier reach.

“Five thirty.”

“There’s still time,” Ella whispered. One of her hands was lying between them, pushed uselessly against the mattress, but the other was tracing paths on his back, as far as she could reach.

She could feel his grin against her hair, “mmhmm.” He rolled on top of her, hand trailing over her breast, down her stomach. He groaned when he found her underwear, “Didn’t I take these off already?”

She chuckled, “You did.”

“Then what the fuck, Ella?” one part amusement, one part frustration.

“Magic,” she giggled.

“I do not appreciate your sorcery, woman,” he growled, pushing them down a lot less deftly this time. She giggled some more, lifted herself off the mattress a bit to help him out. Somehow they managed to tangle the whole matter up much more than was strictly necessary. Tom growled, “See what you’ve done?” Ella just shrugged, giggling some more.

It was a quiet, urgent affair, halted only by the few moments it took to roll a condom up his length. He took his time burying himself inside her, waited for her to adjust, for the nails digging into his shoulder and arm to let up. The sounds he made fascinated her. She pulled him closer, bit his neck. He growled and she smiled against his skin. Then she tried to roll him on his back. It didn’t work, of course, but he got the hint and allowed it. She watched him, the way he was looking at her through dilated pupils, the way the blue of his eyes turned to stormy gray. His mouth hanging slightly open. Perspiration on his chest. His hands with their long, slender fingers held on to her waist, cupped her breasts, wrapped around her and pulled her closer, to lay on top of him. A heartbeat later she was trapped underneath him again, his eyes sparkling down at her, a wicked grin on his face.

“Control freak,” she muttered.

“You love it,” he caught her wrists again, one underneath each hand, pinned her to the bed. He had a very, very compelling point.

Lying on their backs next to each other, breathing heavily, skin quickly cooling down in the chill of the room, Ella giggled again, “Well, that’s not a bad way to start a day.”

Tom nodded, “You should do it more often. It’s healthy for you.”

“Are you volunteering?”

“Who wouldn’t?” it wasn’t really an answer, but she let it be. It wasn’t really a question, either. Not one she expected a real answer to. It was just a noise to fill the silence.

“I should probably move to the sofa now,” she muttered, “your mom will be waking up soon.”

He growled, it made butterflies grow, flutter and die in her stomach, “Are we really having this talk _again_?”

“No, I’m just thinking out loud,” Ella sat up. A hand caught her wrist, pulled her back down.

“Stay,” he rolled on top of her, placed a kiss on her lips. “I’ll go.”

She watched him pick up his clothes from where they fell on the floor. Watched as he slid into his pants, pulled the t-shirt over his head, picked up tied-off condoms and put them in a pant pocket, slid fingers through the mess of his hair. Watched as he left, closing the door behind him. The moment the door was closed Ella found her underwear, slipped into them, curled up underneath the blanket, pulled his pillow to his chest and closed her eyes. She was asleep within minutes.

It was the smell that eventually pulled her from her slumber. There was food. Ella sat up, rubbed the sleep from her eyes and looked around. It was full daylight. It was still raining. She sat on the bed and watched the scene outside the window for a few minutes, then put on a fresh change of clothes, stuffing her pajamas back into her backpack. She ran her fingers through her hair, then gathered it into a braid. Tom has made a huge mess of it last night. There would be no untangling it properly until she’d washed it again tonight.

She packed what little she’d unpacked last night, made the bed, took one last look at the room to make sure it looked just as neat as when she’d first stepped into it, took a deep breath and opened the door into the main space.

Tom was sitting on the sofa – now sans linen – reading a book. His mother was nowhere to be seen. The smell of food was stronger, it made her stomach growl. He heard the door open and looked up, smiled, “Good morning sleepyhead.”

“Morning. What time is it?”

He glanced at his phone, “Ten thirty. Your car’s here, I gave them the key to the old one. Breakfast is on the cooker, it’s still warm. Have some.”

“Thank you,” Ella eyed the kitchen, the little table wasn’t visible from where she was standing.

“Mum’s out, don’t panic.”

There was a plate set up for her on the table, a pot with fresh brew for tea stood in the middle, and on the stove she found a pan with scrambled eggs and bacon that were still hot. Bliss. Pure bliss. Tom walked into the kitchen just as she sat down to eat, the food now on her plate. He sat on the chair next to her just like the previous night, the book still in his hands. She glanced at the title but didn’t recognize it.

He didn’t watch her eat, he just sat, their knees touching under the small table, reading his book as she ate. Several times Ella opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again, not a sound uttered. What was there to say? When she finished eating, she stood up to wash her dishes.

“Leave it,” Tom said.

“No,” she turned on the water, held the plate under the stream to rinse.

He came up behind her, placed hands on her waist, pressed his front against her back, “Leave it.”

She shook her head, continued the washing up. Washing up was normal. Washing up was sane. Washing up kept her hands busy and her mind on a task. On a task other than counting the minutes until she had to leave. She didn’t want to leave. She opened her mouth, “I…” the word faded and she snapped her mouth shut. Going insane was thinking this was something she could actually say out loud to him. Not yet. Not now. Not ever.

“Hmm…?” a puff of air into her hair.

“Nothing, let me finish this.”

He stepped even closer, which seemed physically impossible a moment before, and rested his chin on top of her head, “I’m not interrupting.”

“…right.”

There was only so long she could stall. She asked to play the piano and he’d let her, so she played the only thing she truly knew how to play well. He joined her on the stool, pushing her to the side a little, and played a melody for her. It was a strange mix of melancholy and hope that made her blink away tears.

“Hey…” he said when he noticed.

Ella shrugged, “Keep playing. It’s nice.”

The melody ended. Her time was running out. It stopped raining, at least for a bit. Clouds were rolling in, promising more. He carried her bag to the car, she followed him outside numbly. It was like the previous night all over again, him walking, her following, her mind somewhere else entirely.

“Take care, Ella,” he said. Her back was to the car, he was blocking all routes of escape. The only way to go was inside.

She nodded, “You, too.” She reached up on tiptoes, wrapped her hands around his neck. His hands wrapped around her waist a moment later. She held on longer than she should have. And then a moment more. “Tom?” quietly, right next to his ear.

“Hmm…?” she liked it when he made that sound.

“ _The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold_ ,” she let go of him then, tried to step back but he didn’t let her.

“ _The curves of your lips can rewrite history_ ,” he placed a kiss on the top of her head. Somehow, it felt more intimate than anything he’s done before. “Don’t ever forget,” he said.

This. Driving away, watching him in the rearview mirror turn smaller and smaller until he was gone. This is what going insane felt like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is, of course, Oscar Wilde (from The Picture of Dorian Grey).  
> And the melody Tom plays is this: http://youtu.be/_f-_978yo0E


End file.
